


Personal Space Invader

by weytani



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-03
Updated: 2015-09-03
Packaged: 2018-04-18 20:40:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,230
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4719701
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/weytani/pseuds/weytani
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Shaw takes Gen to a birthday party and makes a colourful new friend.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Personal Space Invader

Gen dug her heels into the ground under the lilac birthday banner, fingers curling around the elbow of Shaw's jacket in protest. Behind her back, Shaw could hear the grating, high-pitched squeal of children's laughter from the yard, just out of sight around the final corner of the house.

“We could leave right now and nobody would even notice,” Gen insisted, not for the first time.

“No.”

“But this is stupid! Let's go get ice-cream or something. Come _on_ , Shaw.”

“No way. The old man says you're developing weird hobbies, and you need to hang out with people your own age for once.”

Gen's lip jutted out. “Grandpa didn't say that.”

“He said it would be a _'swell'_   time. Now get moving.”

Tucking the obligatory birthday present under her other arm, Shaw tried to step forward, but Gen's vice-like grip left her dragging the full weight of a stubborn ten-year-old over the grass like a curly-haired anchor. With a little effort, she'd probably have them both into that backyard within moments, but people who lived in big, expensive-looking houses tended to care when you ruined their fancy lawns with your light-up sneakers.

“Stop screwing around, Gen,” Shaw grumbled, prying little fingers off her bicep and turning her back on the party once again. “Half an hour, that's it. We go in, you give the kid her nerdy laser gloves, I look for something to eat that's not sticky or neon orange, and then we're out.”

Gen let go and crossed her arms stubbornly. “And then ice-cream on the way home.”

“Fine.”

“And you have to teach me how to pick locks.”

Jaw clenched, Shaw conceded. “Just don't tell your grandfather.”

 

-

 

The party was in full swing when they finally turned the corner. All around, kids were running, screaming, tripping over themselves and the various pieces of plastic furniture scattered around the yard. Shaw passed the gift over to Gen and made a beeline for the spread of food on one of the tables.

She tried to keep Gen in her field of vision as she studied her options. Her expectations had been low to begin with, but the poor selection of chips and flimsy-looking sandwiches still proved disappointing. Even a well-off family couldn't make an event like this bearable, apparently.

Not far away from the table, Gen looked like she was having a better time. The unnamed birthday girl had torn into her present, and was now modelling the lame gloves Gen had picked out like they were hot shit. She waved her arms around, making laser noises while Gen laughed and mimicked her.

Sometimes, Shaw forgot that the little smartass was still just a kid. Maybe they both needed the reminder.

She had to hand it to the old man, he was intuitive. Shaw respected that.

After putting away a few sandwiches and a handful of chips, Shaw grabbed a barely chilled can of Coke and settled on one of the benches at the edge of the party. Picking somewhere close enough that she could keep an eye on Gen, but not so close that any of the parents milling around would get the impression she was open to conversation, meant planting herself right behind a little wooden playhouse at the far end of the yard.

And then she noticed the entertainment.

Costumed characters wandering here and there, getting pulled around by their arms and, in some cases, tails. Shaw almost groaned when she saw them. How old were these kids, she wondered. Definitely too old for the furry parade. Somebody had a couple of overbearing parents with no clue how to entertain pre-teens.

Minutes passed, and Shaw was flicking through the messages on her phone when Gen came stumbling over, tugging a cheerful-looking cartoon bear in her wake. Shaw took one glance at the character and snorted.

“Shaw, take my picture with Mr. Berenstein,” Gen said, completely straight-faced.

No second head in sight. Must be the heat.

“You’ve got to be kidding.”

“It’s for grandpa,” Gen explained, “so he knows we actually came."

Even without the picture, Shaw predicted the dead look in her eyes would give them away.

She gave the bear a once-over, wondering what kind of lanky, pimple-faced creep was getting a temporary spot in her camera roll. Whoever it was didn't give anything away, just stood by Gen's side casting a long shadow across Shaw's table as she got up to take the picture. 

Gen smiled and let the bear place a floppy hand on her shoulder just before Shaw's thumb hit the button. She took a couple more shots for good measure, letting Gen make goofy poses for the camera while her new sidekick followed suit.

Just as she was preparing to wave the yellow nuisance off, it wandered away from Gen and took a suspiciously large step in her direction.

"Your photo op's over, take a hike," Shaw snapped.

The freak in the suit didn't seem fazed, just gestured with their hands, first at Shaw's phone and then at Gen who blinked a few times before her eyes widened in understanding.

"He wants you to be in the photo as well," she explained, and the bear nodded its big head cheerfully.

Shaw scowled, tightening her grip on the phone. "It wouldn't be able to take a picture."

Mr. Berenstein put a hand to his cheek, looking pensive (as much as a cartoon bear could) for a few moments before slamming his fist against the palm of his other hand. Then, to Shaw's horror, he put a big yellow arm around her waist and gestured for her to give the phone to Gen.

"Absolutely not." Shaw grabbed for the hand at her side, prying it away from her and squeezing the stranger's fingers through the soft fabric.

She wished she could see the pained expression on their face, maybe even a few tears to improve her bleak mood. Instead, she got a pair of balloon-sized black and white eyes staring back at her, making her want to punch the damn thing.

"It's just a picture, Shaw," Gen said. "And don't hurt Mr. Berenstein or we won't get any cake."

Shaw dropped the hand, ignoring how the bear still made no effort to move away. "Why do you even need a photo of me?"

"As a memento. In case you die."

"You're a morbid little girl, you know that?"

Gen shrugged and stretched out her hand for the phone, wiggling her fingers. Reluctantly, Shaw gave it up.

"Say 'cheese'!"

If there was one thing Shaw hated more than a handsy freak in a costume, it was one who couldn't take a hint. So when Mr. Berenstein waited seconds before the photo went off to wrap both arms around her stomach and turn himself into an oversized backpack, Shaw narrowed her eyes into slits and toppled his legs out from under him, sending them both sprawling backwards onto the grass.

The figure let out a quiet huff when Shaw landed on top of them, and she rolled away to find the head of the bear suit had been knocked off during the fall. Long brown curls partially covered their face from view, but Shaw saw enough to know that her pain-in-the-ass admirer was... pretty hot, actually.

"Are you okay?" Gen peered down at them, looking concerned.

Shaw tapped the woman's cheek with the backs of her fingers, frowning when her eyes remained shut. She seemed to be breathing okay, but maybe the impact had knocked her out. Not that she didn't deserve it for trying to feel Shaw up in an outfit like that. What an idiot.

"Is anyone watching?" Shaw asked, glancing up.

Gen looked around and shook her head. "No, some kids got into a fight over the Doritos, so nobody saw you kill the bear."

"Not dead," Shaw corrected, slipping her hands under the unconscious woman's arms and hoisting her up. "Grab the legs."

Gen did as she was told, and together they carried the unconscious figure into the playhouse. Shaw had to duck her head in order to get through the door, but there was enough space inside to put down their cargo. They sat her up on the floor against one of the walls and looked at each other.

"Maybe I do need to start hanging out with normal people," Gen said.

Shaw shrugged noncommittally before crouching down next to the woman. She studied her for a while, lifting her head away from the wall to feel for lumps and finding none. When she drew her hand away, the stranger's eyelids fluttered. Shaw clenched her jaw and smirked despite her frustration.

"Gen," she muttered, barely turning, "go back to the party before someone gets suspicious. I'll be right out."

Gen looked like she was about to disagree, but then someone in the yard called out that it was time to cut the cake, and the little wooden door banged against the wall as she left.

For a few moments, Shaw stayed in silence, crouched and waiting, until finally the woman peeked one eye open and, seeing her very attentive audience, blinked a few times as if she'd just woken up. The little exaggeration of a groan that followed was a nice touch too.

"What just happened?" she asked, the picture of innocence.

"Well," Shaw tilted her head, "you tried to make a move on me at a ten-year-old's birthday party. And then you faked being unconscious while we dragged your sorry ass in here."

The woman didn't seem offended by Shaw's harsh commentary, or even a little uncomfortable as she leaned her head back against the painted wall of the playhouse. The collar of her costume drooped without its attaching head, revealing a long, pale throat that Shaw traversed with her eyes, while her fingers tapped an idle beat against the plastic dinner table.

"It's a good thing your target audience is soccer moms and mouth-breathers, because your acting really sucks."

That, she didn't seem to appreciate. Mr. Berenstein: The Unmasked looked up, lips drawn into a noticeable pout. "It got me alone with you, didn't it?"

From outside, Shaw could hear the obnoxious chorus of voices that signalled the start of the Happy Birthday song. Thin walls for a little house not made for anyone over the age of twelve, and unused for a while based on the thick cobwebs building up in one of the corners. And on the floor, an (admittedly very good-looking) idiot in a bright yellow bear suit.

Not sexy. Not even a little bit.

Except now she was now tugging her arms out of the costume, and her shirt was form-fitting in a way that Shaw couldn't help but admire. Shaw sat down on one of the chairs, trying very hard not to let her gaze waver any further below the woman's neckline.

"Shouldn't you be out there earning your paycheck?" she murmured. Her heel kicked against the soil, tipping the plastic chair onto its back legs as she watched Mr. Berenstein disappear into a crumpled heap at her feet.

"My shift ended ten minutes ago actually. But," the other woman bit her lip, smiling at Shaw and pulling up blades of grass with her fingers, "I wanted to make an impression."

"Yeah? You made a crappy one."

"You're still here," she pointed out, jabbing a particularly long piece of grass in her direction. "How should I interpret that?"

The front chair legs hit the ground soundlessly as Shaw leaned forward, arms folded across her thighs and lips pulling into a wry smirk. "Don't flatter yourself. I'm avoiding the party."

"I see." She tilted her head, still smiling, and flicked the grass away. Her legs were splayed out in front of her, and when her palms settled on her knees, dragging up in a motion that seemed way too calculated to be innocent, Shaw knew her earlier staring hadn't gone unnoticed.

"So, your name is Shaw, right?"

Nodding, Shaw watched her palms stop moving, fingers tucking under her knees and drawing them up in front of her. The sly grin on her face when Shaw looked up was enough to make her forget their surroundings for a moment.

"Call me Root," she said, stretching a leg forward so the toe of her shoe brushed the chair Shaw was sitting in, "and maybe... I could call you sometime." She looked hopeful.

The moment passed quickly.

"You're not getting my number."

"Is it the costume? I don't make a habit of it."

Shaw tried to kick her foot away from the chair, but ended up swinging at empty air when Root pulled her leg back and crouched onto her knees. "I was filling in for a friend- well, more of an acquaintance, really. You probably noticed that it wasn't my size."

Come to think of it, Mr. Berenstein had seemed to sag a bit more than the other characters hanging around the party. The real owner must have been a pretty tall guy; Root already had a good few inches on her from the looks of it, probably due to how long her legs were. Shaw blinked slowly, realising her gaze had ambled down again.

"Not the issue here," she argued.

There actually wasn't any real issue in particular, as far as Shaw was concerned. Truthfully, she was very interested to know what Root was like when there weren't at least a dozen children hanging around right outside the door, or spiders cavorting on the ceiling.

But there was an air of absolute confidence about Root that made Shaw want to drag this out, leave her dangling for a while, just for the hell of it.

"The way I see it," Root shuffled closer, propping her hands up on the seat at either side of Shaw's legs, "happy coincidences like this don't come around too often."

Shaw raised an eyebrow and let herself lean forward until Root's face was inches away. "Coincidence, huh?"

The smile on Root's face was positively glowing when Shaw played along, her mouth creased like she was struggling to contain her glee.

"Of course, I mean," her eyes fluttered, "it's a perfect match. I felt it before, you have a really..."

There was a pause then, as if she needed a moment to put the words together, and her tongue peeked out to wet her lips as she considered. Shaw waited, patient.

"A strong grip. Nice arms, really muscular..." she trailed off again, this time reaching for Shaw's crossed arms. She paused for a moment, fingers suspended just above her bicep as if waiting for Shaw to swat her hand away, but Shaw just huffed a quiet laugh at her distraction.

"And that's perfect because...?" she coaxed. Root seemed to take her interest as an invitation, and, if Shaw was being completely honest, maybe it was.

Her hand brushed over Shaw's arm, lightly at first and then rougher when she didn't object to the touch.

"Perfect," she repeated, finally tearing half-lidded eyes away from her stroking fingers, "because I just moved into my new place, and there are so many boxes. Lots of heavy... boxes... I couldn't possibly move them all by myself."

That sly look was back on her face, and Shaw was sure she'd never heard a bigger pile of bullshit in all her life.

"Sounds like you have a real problem." The sarcasm slipped into her tone without any real edge. Root's flirtation was about as subtle as a sledgehammer to the back of the head, but it was refreshing in its own way.

"So you'll give me your number?"

Shaw looked at the ceiling, faking a thoughtful expression as Root squeezed her arm impatiently. It felt better than it ought to, the way Root's nails pricked at her bicep, and maybe she waited a little longer than necessary to respond, just to prolong the pressure.

"I suppose," she said finally, still looking up. Root's face was looming a hell of a lot closer by the time she turned her head.

As if her intentions weren't already laid out in full, the pink flush on Root's cheeks as she tilted her head up, stomach pressing against Shaw's knees until she spread them and let her shuffle even closer- it all lead up to the soft press of Root's lips against her mouth.

Things didn't usually happen this quickly. There was usually a bar, with alcohol, dancing, a dark room and minimal conversation. This was possibly the least sexy place Shaw had ever been kissed since hitting puberty.

But, she decided, as Root pulled away and angled her head for better access to Shaw's lips, it wasn't the worst kiss she'd ever had. Far from it. Root's mouth tasted sweet, like she'd been drinking the same flat soda that Shaw had been half-heartedly sipping at earlier. Her hands ran over Shaw's shoulders, one creeping deviously beneath the collar of her jacket.

Just when Shaw's own hand started a slow trek up under the hem of Root's shirt, the playhouse door swung forward with a low creak, and Root pulled away to reveal Gen's disgusted expression blocking out the afternoon sun through the open doorway.

"Oh, _gross_ ," she wailed, throwing both hands up over her face. For dramatic purposes only, based on the very obvious gaps between her fingers. "Were you making out in here?"

"No," Shaw snapped.

Root cleared her throat and tugged at the hands still clamped around her waist. Immediately, Shaw let her go, rising from the plastic chair like this was a completely normal position for a ten-year-old to find her in with a near stranger.

"No cake for either of you, perverts." Gen spun on her heel, dashing across the yard while Root and Shaw watched the door swing closed in her wake.

"Never going to hear the end of that." Shaw rolled her eyes. Root stood up beside her and patted at the green flecks staining her pants below the knee.

"It was a serious fall, maybe you were just checking on my head wound," she smiled, picking up the yellow costume from the floor and turning it over for similar marks.

They ducked their heads on their way out of the little wooden house and watched the crowd still gathered over by the main table. Now that the cake had been cut and served, the party was likely to draw to a close pretty soon, and Gen had already trailed back to the noisy group of pre-teens at the centre of the crowd.

"So, about that phone number."

Shaw turned around, taking a second to adjust to the sudden difference in height now that Root wasn't kneeling at her feet. Somehow, she'd spirited a pen out of nowhere and was holding it out for Shaw to take.

She accepted it, along with the brush of Root's fingers over her own as it swapped hands, and the bare forearm Root help out to her in the seconds that followed. The tip swept over Root's arm leisurely, leaving behind a neat scrawl of numbers.

"No drunk dials," Shaw said, "and no Mr. Berenstein. Not ever."

"Oh, I don't know about that." Root grinned, swiping up the abandoned head of the costume as they walked by. "I think he was a big hit today."

Shaw grimaced and turned her gaze up to the sky, already regretting everything.


End file.
